Today’s entry opens with Marvelous Mark – my derelict roommate – sobbing like a baby because his girlfriend cheated on him . . . . . . .with another girl. I could go into details but you’ve already heard the best part.
So I was riding back from class today and went by this daycare that is on the way. Normally there are a bunch of kids playing outside but the weather was too cold and rainy so they had to stay inside today. I started to think about the seasonal recess changes back when I was in grade school and how much we looked forward to the switch. Kickball in the fall and spring, ball tag in the winter. I remember how excited we would get knowing the weather was changing and our forty minutes of fun would as well. Then there was that rare celebrated treat when you would be greeted with a really nice day in February and the kickball season would start a few weeks early, if only for a single game.
But that got me to thinking about decisions and how I am now at the age where I can play kickball any damn time I want. But now that I have the freedom to make these decisions I don’t want to. Like the other day at work. Both toilets in the women’s bathroom were broken and no one had done anything about it for well over a week. I called the plumber because it seemed that no one else would but after doing so I was so afraid that I would get in trouble for calling the wrong plumber, or not getting approval or something stupid like that. And it is times like these when I think about draining my savings account, buying a baby grand piano, and playing Ben Folds tunes until my fingers bleed in lieu of going to class. But I don’t. And I’m not totally sure why.
The lady at Casey’s refuses to believe that I’m 21. I’m in there at least once a day, getting hot chocolate or those chocolate koala crackers that I love so dearly. I also frequent the establishment a few times during the weekend buying a variety of alcohol for friends, roommates and myself. The point I’m trying to make is that I’m there a lot. So this lady (the same lady is seriously there all the time) knows me, there is no doubt in my mind. Yet she still feels the need to ask for my ID each time. Fine. This I have no problem with. But does she really need to put it through that scanner thing and make me wait for the register to verify that I’m 21? Just do the math, bitch. While we’re at it would you care for a retinal scan? Now at first I thought this might be Casey’s policy. I mean, when you think integrity you think Casey’s General Store, no question. So once again, this I can live with. But I have since seen that exact same lady sell alcohol to other people and not even ask for an ID. As a result, I now feel guilty every time I get beer so I end up getting other items for ‘cover’. Now a case of Corona is padded with a box of donuts and a pack of Garbage Pail Kids cards. Kind of like when you slip Mrs. Doubtfire and A Bugs Life over Wet Hot & Ready: Part VIII. At least I’m getting a pretty good collection of Garbage Pail Kids cards. I figure I should have the full set by the end of the semester.
But it’s kind of ironic in a way. Since I’ve turned 21 I’ve probably bought more alcohol for my friends than I have for myself. This is why over Thanksgiving break I’m going to Vegas baby, Vegas. . . . er. . . Burlington baby, Burlington. But yeah, I’m hitting the tables and plan to be up five hundy by midnight.
That baby grand may be mine after all.
So I was riding back from class today and went by this daycare that is on the way. Normally there are a bunch of kids playing outside but the weather was too cold and rainy so they had to stay inside today. I started to think about the seasonal recess changes back when I was in grade school and how much we looked forward to the switch. Kickball in the fall and spring, ball tag in the winter. I remember how excited we would get knowing the weather was changing and our forty minutes of fun would as well. Then there was that rare celebrated treat when you would be greeted with a really nice day in February and the kickball season would start a few weeks early, if only for a single game.
But that got me to thinking about decisions and how I am now at the age where I can play kickball any damn time I want. But now that I have the freedom to make these decisions I don’t want to. Like the other day at work. Both toilets in the women’s bathroom were broken and no one had done anything about it for well over a week. I called the plumber because it seemed that no one else would but after doing so I was so afraid that I would get in trouble for calling the wrong plumber, or not getting approval or something stupid like that. And it is times like these when I think about draining my savings account, buying a baby grand piano, and playing Ben Folds tunes until my fingers bleed in lieu of going to class. But I don’t. And I’m not totally sure why.
The lady at Casey’s refuses to believe that I’m 21. I’m in there at least once a day, getting hot chocolate or those chocolate koala crackers that I love so dearly. I also frequent the establishment a few times during the weekend buying a variety of alcohol for friends, roommates and myself. The point I’m trying to make is that I’m there a lot. So this lady (the same lady is seriously there all the time) knows me, there is no doubt in my mind. Yet she still feels the need to ask for my ID each time. Fine. This I have no problem with. But does she really need to put it through that scanner thing and make me wait for the register to verify that I’m 21? Just do the math, bitch. While we’re at it would you care for a retinal scan? Now at first I thought this might be Casey’s policy. I mean, when you think integrity you think Casey’s General Store, no question. So once again, this I can live with. But I have since seen that exact same lady sell alcohol to other people and not even ask for an ID. As a result, I now feel guilty every time I get beer so I end up getting other items for ‘cover’. Now a case of Corona is padded with a box of donuts and a pack of Garbage Pail Kids cards. Kind of like when you slip Mrs. Doubtfire and A Bugs Life over Wet Hot & Ready: Part VIII. At least I’m getting a pretty good collection of Garbage Pail Kids cards. I figure I should have the full set by the end of the semester.
But it’s kind of ironic in a way. Since I’ve turned 21 I’ve probably bought more alcohol for my friends than I have for myself. This is why over Thanksgiving break I’m going to Vegas baby, Vegas. . . . er. . . Burlington baby, Burlington. But yeah, I’m hitting the tables and plan to be up five hundy by midnight.
That baby grand may be mine after all.